


Up Highway 191

by who_won_the_race_back_home



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, poor dead sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_won_the_race_back_home/pseuds/who_won_the_race_back_home
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Sammy and Tony met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Highway 191

Sam Dean lit a cigarette and leaned up against a large plate glass window,neon signs advertised Labatt and Miller Lite at Ron’s Bar and Grill. Every couple minutes someone would come in or out, forcing him to hear the worst house band he’d ever encountered a half second at a time.

A few weeks ago his old boss at Blackwater, a guy who still called him up every once in a while with jobs, got in touch and asked if he ever thought about getting a partner. Sam didn’t really get the whole story, but the short of it was his old boss owed a favor to a buddy, and he was looking for help keeping an eye on someone. For science. It was weird as hell, but there was seriously good money in it for him. He figured he had done a lot stupider things for a lot less cash.

A bit of negotiating and a drive across the border later, Sam found himself smoking outside Ron’s in Swift Current, Saskatchewan. His old boss had gotten him in touch with that friend, and that led him to where this guy was last seen. Tony Sawicki. He was twenty-three, but looked sixteen, short, with the dumbest looking haircut he had seen on a person outside of a Whitesnake video. Also, apparently, a smart ass drunk who liked to start trouble according to a few locals.  A bit of asking around led him to a short stretch of highway with a line of biker bars. The past couple nights he hopped from dive to dive trying to catch the guy. Sam was surprised he hadn’t run into him yet, and even the prospect of serious cash was starting to get less appealing the more time he spent in backwoods Canada.

He took a couple last drags and stamped his cigarette out on the ground. Before he had the chance to reach for the door, it swung open violently and a kid stumbled out, almost falling over himself. He didn’t look a day over eighteen. And he had the stupidest mullet Sam had ever seen. A burly man with a leather biker vest quickly followed the kid, shoving him over and onto his stomach.

“Fucking faggot,” he yelled, moving to kick the guy square in the ribs.

The kid was quick enough to roll out of the way and scramble back a couple yards, giving him enough time to get back on his feet. He was clearly drunk, swaying a bit unsteadily and looking stupid enough to think he could take this biker on. 

“Shit, all you had to say was that you weren’t interested,” he said, smirking like he wanted the guy to hit him.

One of the biker’s buddies pulled his friend back by the arm. “Jim, c’mon. He’s just a kid. Let him walk it off.”

The biker spit at the kid’s chest, but began following his friend inside. The kid walked up behind him, grabbed his ass with one hand, and slyly picked his wallet out with the other, stuffing it into a coat pocket before the biker even had a chance to turn around.

“It’s hard to hear no when you’ve got an ass like-” he was cut off by the biker whipping around and putting a haymaker right into his jaw.

The punch knocked him back to the ground. Blood trickled from his mouth and he moved to protect his head. At least he was still conscious. The biker went to pull him back up, but Sam stepped in between and grabbed the guy’s arm.

“He got it. I don’t think he’s going to bother you anymore.”

“And who the fuck are you? His fucking butt fuck buddy?” the biker yelled.

“If that’s what gets you to back off, yeah. Sure,” he said, pulling his hand away.

The biker lunged, but his more level-headed friend took him by the shoulders and led him back towards the bar. He ripped the door open and a few notes from a horrific rendition of “Paint It Black” drifted out into the parking lot. Sam turned back to the kid, who was beginning to shakily sit up.

“You alright? Need a hospital or something?” Sam asked.

“I don’t do hospitals,” the guy said, wiping his mouth with a plaid shirt sleeve. “I’m fine.” 

Sam offered a hand to help him up, and it took a few seconds for him to find his footing, more a product of the booze than the hit. He steadied himself on Sam’s shoulder, taking a few deep breaths and then spitting out a bit of blood.

“See? Just fucking fine,” he said, grinning.

Sam thought keeping an eye on this guy might be more a favor to him than a job for his boss’s buddy.

“Well, I ‘m not leaving you here drunk and alone, ‘cause I think you’ll get yourself fucking killed. There a diner or something around here? I’ll buy you a coffee.” Sam said.

The kid, Tony, no mistaking it, looked at him with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. 

“No offense, man, but I don’t actually go for the bald bear type, and I don’t fuck for money if that’s what you’re looking for. I was just messing around.”

Sam snorted. “How often do you pretend to be into ‘em to grab their wallets?”

For a split second Tony’s cocky, unimpressed look dropped from his face. For just a moment, he seemed almost scared. But he recovered quickly. 

“Only when rent’s due and road crew jobs are dried up for the year,” he replied. 

“I’m not going to do anything. The guy deserved it,” Sam said. Tony fully relaxed back into his act. “I’m not looking to fuck you. Just trying to help you sober up before you do something stupider.”

He started to head back to his car. After a couple paces he heard the shuffle of gravel behind him. Tony got into the passenger’s side without a word. Sam handed him a half finished bottle of water and he took a swig, spitting it back out with the rest of the blood onto the ground.

“So, anyplace around here to get something to eat?” Sam asked.

“There’s a truck stop ten, fifteen miles east on the Trans Canada that’s twenty-four hours,” Tony said.

Sam started the car and drove out of the lot and onto the empty highway. Tony massaged his jaw absentmindedly and shook his right leg anxiously.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” Sam said.

“Tony,” Tony said. He was quiet for a moment. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sam replied.

They sat in a comfortable silence for the fifteen minute ride to the diner. Tony started to nod off a few times, his head snapping back up every time it began to sink towards his chest.

At the diner a couple truckers sat at the counter, and a small group of drunk bikers took up a table by the door. The waitress seated them in a booth in the back corner. Sam was grateful for the relative isolation. Tony fiddled with the dish of sugar packets while they waited for their coffee.

“How much did you get from the guy?” Sam asked.

Tony’s head snapped up like he forgot he even had it. He pulled out the worn leather wallet from his coat pocket and started laying out its contents. A license, a hundred bucks Canadian, twenty in American, a Subway punch card, and a wad of gas station receipts. 

“I’ve done worse,” Tony said, taking the cash and tucking it back into his coat.

The waitress returned with two cups of coffee and took Sam’s order for eggs over easy. 

“How many times has a guy like that kicked your ass while you snatched his wallet?” Sam asked.

Tony chuckled to himself. “Enough times that I don’t remember them all clear,” he said, tapping a finger on his temple. He paused and gave Sam a curious look,“What are you even doing up here?” he asked. “Never seen you around, and we don’t get many people through that aren’t truckers.”

“A job,” Sam replied.

“Well that’s fucking specific.”

Sam sat back and tried to figure out how best to hook this kid into working with him. “I steal shit, look for people who don’t want to be found, pretty much anything someone will pay me good money for. I’m up here doing something like that.”

Tony just looked at him like he was sizing him up, trying to figure out his angle.

“I had a partner who helped me out, but he got picked up a few weeks ago for some counterfeiting shit I wasn’t involved with,” Sam lied. 

“Why are you telling me this? I don’t even fucking know you, man.” Tony asked.

“Because I need someone to help me out. I can get a lot more done, and make a lot more money when I have a partner.” Also a lie, at least with the people he had worked with. “You’re an idiot, but you got that guy’s wallet even though you were stumbling drunk.” Sam sipped his coffee, “Listen, you seem like you pick shit up quick and you’re not against doing something illegal. Besides, doesn’t look like you got a better offer in this shit hole.”

Tony laughed in his face.

“You’re fucking kidding, right? I met you literally a half-hour ago. Thanks for the fucking backhanded compliments, man, but you could be a serial killer who’ll skin me alive and eat my liver while making me watch,” he said.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I could. But like I said, you got a better offer here? Skinning you alive might just bring some excitement into your life. Although, you get knocked in the head a couple more times by two-hundred-and-fifty pound bikers, you probably won’t remember how sad it is anyways.”

Tony rubbed the patchy stubble on his chin and sized Sam up. He looked like he wanted to knock Sam out with his coffee mug, maybe make off with his wallet too, plus the car.

“Fuck you,” Tony finally said. “Where are we going?”

“Dunno yet. Got to get you over the border without immigration knowing, then Cincinnati, then wherever the fuck a job tells us too,” Sam said, smirking a bit.

Tony stared at his coffee for a moment, scratched at his chin again.

“You better not skin me, Sammy boy, or I’ll fuckin’ kill you from beyond the grave.”

The waitress brought Sam his eggs, and he and Tony started planning.

 


End file.
